


Patterns

by TimmyJaybird



Series: 100 Themes Challenge [25]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Damian just really wants to kiss Tim all the time, M/M, implied genderfluid Tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9456617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: Damian could never play the socialite his father and Tim could. He hated large events- and more so, hated when Tim's attention was taken away from him during.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The theme for this was "rivalry". I started it a long time ago and wrote maybe a page, and I don't know where I was orignally going, but here we are now.

“No, but look at the color of his  _ shoes _ ,” Tim whispered, holding his champagne glass up towards his mouth, so anyone who looked wouldn’t even  _ realize _ he was speaking. “They are  _ hideous _ .”

 

Damian’s eyes scanned the room in front of him, before he paused and had to reach up, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Seven hells they  _ are _ .”

 

“He has terrible taste,” Tim said, taking a real sip of his champagne. “Every  _ year _ his shoes get  _ worse _ . All this money and he can’t hire someone to dress him, what, five nights out of the year? However many of these things we go to.” Tim waved his free hand, finishing off his champagne, and making a point to switch out his glass with a waiter who was walking by. “It’s not that  _ hard _ .”

 

“Not everyone can look as flawless as you,” Damian said, elbowing Tim, who laughed, smoothing a hand down the front of his Armani suit. It was far more  _ fitted _ than most of the suits in the room- and Damian had been shocked to even see it. Galas were the perfect  _ excuse _ for Tim to turn heads with designer dresses that he  _ knew _ his brother was very fond of.

 

“You clean up pretty well too,” Tim added, smiling and reaching over to tussle Damian’s undercut. Damian gave a quiet  _ -tt- _ , reaching up to try and fix his hair, while Tim took a long drink. “Oh, Damian,  _ look at the color of her gown _ . God, it looks like some sort of soup Alfred would make while trying to get us to be  _ healthy _ .”

 

Damian snorted, nodding his agreement, before reaching over and plucking Tim’s champagne glass from his hand. “You’re going to be an  _ atrocity _ before the night is half over,” Damian warned, taking a sip. Tim folded his arms, cocking a brow.

 

“Yeah? Well, you’re  _ nineteen _ and get to do this sober for two more years, kiddo.” He swiped it back, and just to  _ spite _ Damian, downed the rest of the glass. His head swam for a moment, and Tim smiled, more than pleasantly buzzed already. Damian only frowned, folding his arms and resting them on Tim’s shoulders, leaning heavily onto him.

 

“You’re the most boring  _ brother _ ever, Drake.”

 

Tim snorted. “Uh-huh. Think Dick would let you?”

 

“I  _ know _ Grayson would. And should we talk about Todd?” Tim shook his head, as Damian’s chin rested on his arms. “How much longer are we required to stand here?”

 

“In this exact spot? Maybe twenty seconds. Here comes  _ Brucie _ .” Damian followed Tim’s eyes, saw his father walking towards them, and instantly straightened up. Bruce had his head turned towards the group he was talking with, who all seemed pleasantly distracted by him. But they were heading right  _ for _ them.

 

“What do we do?”

 

“Too late to run, Damian. We cheese it up.” Tim elbowed him, straightening up and putting on his  _ Tim Wayne _ smile, the one that Damian simply had  _ no idea _ how he had mastered, even over all these years. All he could do was attempt to look somewhat bemused, instead of loathe to be existing there, for the evening.

 

Except that it wasn’t that  _ bad _ , not with Tim as company. His running commentary on everyone’s fashion had grown on Damian very quickly.

 

“Look how you’ve grown,” a woman Damian assumed he had met once before said, looking right at him. She reached out, dared to brush her hand over his cheek, pinching it a little. “How old are you now sweetheart?”

 

“Nineteen,” Damian said, moving to brush her hand off- but the moment it lifted Tim was grasping it, tangling their fingers together. He tugged, and Damian stumbled a step closer, dislodging the woman’s hand from his face. He lifted Damian’s hand, brushed lips chilled from his champagne over his knuckles.

 

“He’s too pretty to keep your hands off,” Tim teased, and Damian felt his cheeks tinging. Bruce gave them a look, the slight narrow of his eyes that Damian knew only he and Tim would notice- but the crowd was suddenly laughing.

 

“Timothy is so right,” the woman was saying, giving a dramatic wave of her hand. “Why, you had best keep an eye on that young one of yours, Brucie. He’s got your looks.”

 

Bruce laughed, and it was entirely fake. Damian stared for a moment, before glancing back at Tim, who looked up at him, made a point of kissing his knuckles again, his tongue flicking against the dark skin.

 

_ Oh _ . So it was one of those nights.

 

“Perhaps you should watch Timothy as well,” another woman was saying, and her eyes were boring right into Tim like fire. “He looks a little red in the cheeks.”

 

“Champagne does that,” Tim said, finally abandoning Damian’s hand. He raised his glass, giving a wink, and Damian felt his belly going tight as the woman blushed. He knew the flirtatiousness was for show- just like his father and Dick both used- but there was a part of him, a childish part, that didn’t like to share Tim’s attention at galas. Hadn’t since they had grown closer, over the past few years.

 

And especially not now, since it had gotten  _ complicated _ . Since Damian had first kissed him in the cave in the middle of sparring, when they were both sweat-slick and panting, and Tim- he’d kissed him back, dug his teeth into Damian’s lip so hard it was sore, when they finally parted ways.

 

And all the little secret touches after. Damian never knew if a conversation with Tim would be simply that, or if he’d end up whining into his mouth and trying to grind into him.

 

Damian snapped his attention back when the crowd was suddenly swallowing Tim up. One of the girls was asking his  _ honest opinion _ on her dress, and Damian knew from Tim’s smile he was lying through his damn teeth. Damian watched him walk away with the group, leaving his father for what was probably a much needed reprieve.

 

Bruce sighed, the moment they were gone, and Damian folded his arms, feeling like he shrunk a bit, without Tim’s presence. Bruce glanced down at him, and it must have shown in his eyes, because his father was smiling in a  _ teasing _ manner when he said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

 

“-tt-, what a ridiculous notion.” Damian shifted, and the skin of his knuckles felt hot, where Tim’s mouth had been. He tucked that hand further against his body, and Bruce waved over a waiter, took two glasses of champagne.

 

“Of course,” he said, holding one out. Damian looked at it, quirking up a brow, and Bruce pushed it a little closer. “One, for appearances. That’s it.” Damian took it, taking a sip- and he was never sure how he felt about champagne. The bubbles were a bit much. He’d only wanted a sip of Tim’s because his mouth had been on that glass.

 

“Will I even see him again tonight?” Damian asked, feeling foolish the moment he did. But his father wasn’t looking at him now, was surveying the crowds.

 

“Depends.”

 

“On?”

 

“If you get him back or not.” Bruce took another sip. “Tim can play the socialite just as well as I can. This city adores him, these people are wrapped around his fingers.” Damian gripped his champagne a little tighter. “If you’re so worried about being alone, you can make the rounds with me.”

 

Damian was quiet, sucked at his tongue. It wasn’t  _ just _ that. He couldn’t help but think what if Tim went  _ home _ with one of those girls- or guys that he saw looking at him. Or a  _ group _ of them. What if he didn’t think about Damian the rest of the night, and Damian was stuck on him until dawn, unable to sleep and tossing in his bed wishing he had the courage to crawl into Tim’s-

 

“He has a pattern,” Bruce said, sliding one hand into his pocket. “You’ll catch him escaping the group after maybe ten minutes. Enough to make them miss him. He likes that angle.” Bruce glanced at his son. “Grab him before he goes back, and maybe he won’t.”

 

Damian opened his mouth, was going to question his father- but the little gleam in his eyes had him clamping it shut. And did he  _ know _ ? Did he see the way Damian looked at Tim like he wanted to be swallowed whole? Had he caught Damian pinning him down on the mats and kissing his mouth in his clumsy, rushed, inexperienced way? Did he see how Tim flipped him  _ easily _ because the power Damian had held, it had always been a lie?

 

Any number of moments could have been exposure to those eyes, and Damian almost couldn’t believe his father wouldn’t find fault with it. Still, he nodded, took a breath to steady himself, and hurried through the crowd. He didn’t even bother finishing his champagne glass, leaving it with one of the waiters, dodged glances and smiles as quickly as possible, until he could see Tim. He’d stopped, was leaning against a table and gesturing with one hand, the other braced next to his hip- and that a girl with a huge smile and a pretty orange dress.

 

Damian gritted his teeth, felt something flaring up in him. He swallowed it down, waiting hidden within the crowds, until  _ just like his father said _ , Tim was excusing himself. The girl grabbed at his arm, leaning close- and there was a man touching the small of his back, trying to keep him. But Tim slipped them easily, and Damian tried to read his lips, but it was hard to focus, his pulse pounding in his temples.

 

The moment Tim’s back was to him, he was moving. He hurried into the hallway, past some of the staff, following as Tim rounded a corner. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was going- but the moment Damian was around the corner they nearly collided, Tim having stopped, turned to stare at him. His arms were folded, this  _ too attractive _ smirk on his lips.

 

“Baby bat,” he said, all  _ smooth _ , still using his  _ Tim Wayne _ voice.

 

It shouldn’t have made Damian nearly pant.

 

But it did.

 

“Following me?” Tim reached out, curled one hand against the back of Damian’s neck, pulling himself in. The younger lifted his hands, settled them on Tim’s hips and felt his own fingers shaking, and Tim’s thumb rubbed the back of his neck. When Damian didn’t speak, Tim  _ continued _ . “You miss my company? Or-” he licked his lips, and Damian wasn’t sure what this was, where it was going- but  _ god _ , he felt like he might pass out. “Were you jealous?”

 

The second time he’d heard that word in a ten minute span.

 

“I was not-” Damian started, but Tim’s eyes dared him to lie, just  _ dared him _ , and for once, Damian didn’t have the nerve. He clamped his mouth shut, hummed for a moment, and Tim gave him a real smile.

Not the socialite kind, but the Tim Drake he saw tossing himself off rooftops.

 

“A little rivalry is healthy,” he said, inclining his head, and Damian could feel his breath on his lips. “Damian?”

 

“Y-yes?” He  _ never _ stuttered, but the truth was in his ears, banging against his skull with his pulse.

 

“I’m going to kiss you,” Tim whispered, his other hand reaching up, sliding under Damian’s jacket, resting on his chest. “I’m going to kiss you until I forget my own name, and then we’re going home.”

 

Damian’s eyes widened, before falling shut when Tim’s mouth pressed tight to his, kissed him in the same way he smiled at him. With some sort of awe, some sort of intrigue- and this heavy level of affection Damian had dreamed about, when he’d only ever wanted Tim’s approval.


End file.
